


The Marathon of Twelve

by reminiscence



Category: Fruits Basket
Genre: Poetry, ffn challenge: diversity writing challenge, prose poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reminiscence/pseuds/reminiscence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there are twelve little animals lined up in a row</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Marathon of Twelve

 

there are twelve little animals lined up in a row  
but still slunk in shadows as far as they can go  
everyone looks at them but no-one can ever know  
that they're not twelve little animals at all

behind them all's the cat, the cretin of them all and it's sad because he's a sweetheart deep inside and a smart cat too who can always find his way home even when he's stuck in a little prison bottle. he's the poor little cat that's a bad luck charm that doesn't even cause bad luck (he's just blamed instead). he's the poor little cat who's left outdoors on rainy nights without even a litterbox to snuggle into because bad luck is washed away by the rain - but his luck doesn't leave: it's a curse and it stays just like scars and birthmarks and it's both - it's scars from a long time ago that even death can't be rid of and it's not fair and it's bad luck for him that he's the cat who has to trail behind the others, under their feet...

next, the last of twelve, is the pig who only has the cat to look down upon but somewhere along the line she tumbles and finds herself looking up instead, looking up because he's the only one who doesn't look down at her and that's someone she can bear looking up to because she's a pig but a pig with pride and she won't let herself be trodden into the trenches by the rest. but it rankles too, that the cat of all people has to pull her up when she's supposed to hate and despite and trample all over said cat and so she wants to get stronger too, stronger so the next time they race the pig can reach the banquet first and laugh at all the rat - and she'll carry the cat on her tail unlike the cow that brought the rat.

next comes the dog who doesn't seem to mind his place is so poor because he laughs it all off, water that slides off his fur and leaves it a slick and shaggy mess that dries in the sun. he's a dog and he wants to run about under that sun and pay fetch with everybody and have them pet her mangy fur while they laugh and he barks and life goes simply on. but he's not just a dog but rather a human that's been cursed to a dog and that colours things, colours things because he can't just run around under the sun and away with his tail between his legs if there are clouds instead and nor can he curl on the heath at the feet of his master, his god, because he's so far down on the ladder she doesn't want him there.

next is the rooster and he's the last of the two legged beasts that are human too but still ahead: ahead of the dog and the pig and the cat even if he doesn't care to be. he's the rooster who wakes before the dawn so he can wake the others come the dawn and it's a personal shame as well to have not been at the front of their parade if only he cares. he doesn't; it's enough for him to get up at godforsaken hours to wake the rest and watch them wake even if the cold mornings nip at his skin with no thanks to warm them up again and the thanks he does receive are too cold, minded elsewhere...and yet he stands on the rooftops in the shadow of the dawn and caws anyway.

the monkey's next in line and it's a miracle it doesn't scamper everywhere but only because he's afraid: he's afraid his scampering on solid ground is akin to scampering on rough rocks or slippery slopes and he's always tripping and sprawling and causing things to fall and crack and break like a row of dominoes and it's shameful since he's not an excitable puppy to go barrelling around without a care of what's in front and behind and he's in front of the dog in the only way that matters - except it doesn't really matter when he's got none of the dexterity of his curse and the wavy clumsiness instead: like he's a tide of water that never knows which way not to turn...

he's the goat and he's not quite halfway but he's almost there: there if they count the cat but no-one can count the cat aside from the cat himself and only in the curse at that. he's the goat that's near at the front nor the rear but rather lost in a flock and barely any different than a flock of sheep that need a shepherd except he's got no fluffy coat of wool to be sheared off when winter ends. he's nothing special except he's cursed and he's neither the start nor the end of those nor the best nor the worst... he's only another goat lost in the flock

in the centre is the horse and isn't that a surprise because horses race while the other animals laze around, except she's not a racehorse and she's not much of a packhorse either if she can't manage the load on her shoulders that isn't so much heavier than everybody else's - and isn't that what a packhorse should do, anyway, take a bit of everyone's load and then a bit more until the straw on the camel's back is snapped and broken and catching fire and then she can rampage like a spooked racehorse or really a horse of any kind and be put down because she's broken all her legs

and then is the snake who doesn't have any legs at all but still manages to beat the horse and maybe it's sneaky like the rat except not smart enough, not sneaky enough to get all the way to the front - or maybe he's smarter because he's close enough to the middle to be overlooked unlike his darling little brother and in their family being overlooked can only be a blessing and he can curl somewhere warm and be forgotten...

and now here's a beast who should be majestic except he's not, he's just a tiny little thing even if he's one of the oldest of all of them this cycle. he's a dragon and dragons are respected, worshipped - and also hunted with iron-tipped arrows and blades for every bit of power he doesn't have... not that it really matters since he's a weak little thing, more a seahorse than a dragon who can't even breathe without some water and maybe the original was a floundering fish-dragon as well.

next is the rabbit who perhaps only got so far with optimism, hopping every step of the way while others walked or ran, and he hops and smiles even when he's sad and wants to cry because he has to be strong, strong and not afraid not hiding behind corners or down rabbit holes because he's the rabbit that leads Alice into wonderland or so he dreams, and Alice will be the one to bless them. hopefully.

the tiger gets the bronze but the only thing near bronze with her is her hair and maybe her mother because hey, she's got a mother that cares unlike most of them even if she cares too much and is too stifling with those tears. and why must everyone else laugh at her: she's supposed to be third but she doesn't feel third best at all, maybe third rate instead until she can put her feet one in front of the other and follow the shadow in first place and that's okay isn't it? it’s probably better than okay

number two is the one who thought he'd won and it's a sad state he found himself in, to be second best because he'd been giving a free ride instead - and funny how he volunteers himself to do the same in this era, when there's no god at the end of the road but Alice far from wonderland... but Alice at the end of the road shows their long marathon's almost come to a close

and he's the first of them, the rat who hadn't walked to god's door with his own too feet and if only he'd known the price of being first...

and so with Alice facing against the god,  
their twelve plus one marathon comes to a close.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, c1 – over 1000 words poem


End file.
